


Second Nature

by jaclynhyde



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: First Time, Foe Yay, Gender Dysphoria, Genderqueer Character, Identity Issues, Major Imperial Agent Spoilers, Other, tw: hunter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:02:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2834123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaclynhyde/pseuds/jaclynhyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't ever let them change you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Nature

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ks_villain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ks_villain/gifts).



> For ks_villain—I couldn't pass up your prompt for Hunter and gender identity from last year. Happy holidays, and I hope you enjoy this! And thank you to my beta vanishinghitchhiker and to all of SWTumblr that has written Hunter meta!
> 
>  **Content Warning** : This fic concerns a character coming to terms with their gender, so there's a lot of pronoun switching and dysphoria. There's no misgendering or transphobia from other characters, however. Non-cis readers, please tell me if I've written anything offensive!
> 
> Other content warnings: mild dubcon, mind control, implied suicide, mental illness, violent fantasies, a bit of Kaliyo, general life of an Imperial Agent.

  _"Besides, after a while, changing becomes second nature. Surely you've noticed."_

 

 

**I. ████████**

She doesn't remember.

 

 

**II. Hunter**

The man who would be Hunter comes naturally to her.

The first disguise she creates looks nothing like he will, nothing like her: he's an alien, buff, suspiciously similar to the protagonist of a series of adventure holofilms from a world that no longer exists.

The next mission she goes on, he becomes a human, because it's easier to fake.

The next mission, his hair grows shorter, because it looks more natural.

The next mission, his eyes turn green, because it feels right.

And on the missions after that, his lips become fuller, his hair blond, his height shorter, until she carves a scar onto his cheek and knows this is the man who serves the Star Cabal.

 

* * *

 

The woman who will be Hunter is on a mission with the one who will be the Shining Man, and she has to admit she's enjoying his attention. He meets her word for word, touch for touch, until they're standing chest to chest in her ship's airlock and she finally leans in to kiss him.

He chuckles, then, and reaches down to her wrist. A flash of blue light over her eyes, and he's looking at her real eyes, her real scar instead of a copy. "Much better," he says.

Somehow, she'd almost forgotten.

The next time they're on a mission together, she flirts with the bartender, a pretty Twi'lek woman with an easy smile and the kind of breasts the man who would be Hunter would go crazy for. And the one who would be the Shining Man stands a little too close, and gives Hunter a sly smile meant for her.

 

 

**III. Hunter | Legate**

"Thank you," he says to Hunter, low and weary.

He's so achingly _sincere_ , this Imperial defector.

It isn't like he poured his heart out to the first Pubs he met, confessing his trauma at discovering that Sith act like Sith. No—it's the way he reacts when Hunter calls him Imperial, his handsome Chiss features tightening in repressed pain. And the way he stands, surrounded by enemies, awkward and uncomfortable but needing to make a connection to someone, even Hunter.

Hunter smirks at him. "Oh, Agent, you don't have to thank me. Thank your handlers—I wonder if they've been executed yet?" He outright flinches at that—poor _thing_ , it must be his first undercover assignment where his lies hit so close to home. Still young enough to be a loyal Imperial to the core, to be something more than nesting dolls of cover stories.

And yet, a natural liar. It takes a lie to spot a liar, after all, and Hunter's the only one who sees through him. Maybe Kothe will be able to tell he's just playing the game, too. Except Hunter doesn't need to rip it out of his mind—no, he recognized himself the second he saw him, willing to befriend and betray whoever it took to make sure the right side, _his_ side, won it all.

When the agent mentions Ardun Kothe's name, he appears and retreats to his office like a ghost, or a Jedi; the agent stands to go after him, alone.

She makes sure to get a good, long look at his face, at the achingly sincere double agent who trusts the SIS not to break the mind of a traitor just to be sure.

"See you," Hunter says, and wonders who he'll be when when she does.

 

* * *

 

She calls him late at night on both their schedules, when she can't sleep, when Kothe and his lackeys are sleeping the way only the righteous toying with the non-righteous can. Not that they're great conversationalists at the best of times—all doing the right thing and slavish devotion to a Force user, as usual. But Legate, Legate is something different.

Her eyebrows raise when he answers—he already looks this haggard after a few days of mind control and an unexpected wake-up call? Maybe he isn't as much like Hunter as she thought.

"'Hello, Legate. Did I wake you?" It's too bad that she couldn't be there in person—she didn't even get to see him after Kothe got through with him. What kind of a reward for Hunter's devoted service was that?

Voice hoarse, he asks, "What do you want?" And even though he's trying so hard to hide it, she can see he's _afraid_ of Hunter—no, not yet. He's afraid of the keyword, and what he knows Hunter can do with it.

"Can't I check up on a friend?" She leans in closer—and he leans in to match, expression hard and defiant. Interesting. "Well, I guess I can trust you now. We could have a sleepover—tell each other all our secrets."

"I'm a former agent of Imperial Intelligence," he growls. "Your turn."

"Now, now, that's barely a secret. I have a good one for you, though." She takes a look at her sensors, makes sure none of his friends are lurking around him. "Keyword: Onomatophobia," Hunter says, and Legate's face smooths into bland obedience and she's squeezing her thighs together at the sudden wave of arousal.

She can _own_ him, this pretty little alien impostor, and he can shrug off Legate but she'll have Cipher Nine and unwrap his identities until she gets to _him_.

"Next time you get off, think of me. Got that, Legate?"

He doesn't protest any more than a toy trooper speaking with its master's voice. "I will think about you."

"See you later," she says, and she waits until the restraints drop and his eyes start to widen before she ends the call.

 

* * *

 

The next time she calls, he's afraid of Hunter.

 

 

**IV. Hunter | Cipher Nine**

She calls him late at night, again, because he escaped the Shadow Arsenal and everything Hunter has thrown against him and he's still _there_.

"Cipher! Good to see you again. Hope you've been thinking of me."

His expression freezes, just for a second—just enough to know he remembers, that that particular order didn't get overshadowed by everything else Hunter has done to him. "How could I not?"

He lets his eyes trail over the agent, slow and deliberate, over his tensed muscles and down to his waistband. "You really should just stop following me. People will talk." It's been a fun diversion, sure, but she's beginning to get the uneasy feeling he may be an actual threat.

"And here I thought this was just between us." His voice is low with sleeplessness and stress, low enough to turn into a growl.

"In that case—" he gives him a slow, lazy smile, like he does for girls too good for him— "maybe you should take this call privately. Keep it between us."

Cipher Nine takes an involuntary step back, but he's staring at the holo intently, eyes narrowed.  "Why don't you come for a visit instead?"

The man is actually _considering_ it.

Hunter still has power over him, she realizes with a jolt. More than he ever did with a keyword. "I wouldn't want to spoil you."

Cipher watches him, intently, and then abruptly says, "All right." He leans out of sight to key something in; his image winks out, and she can hear his footsteps echoing down the corridor of his ship.

And if her throat is suddenly dry, it doesn't matter. It's not real, it doesn't mean anything because it's Hunter, Hunter who flirts with women. Hunter who wants to break Cipher Nine, to own him in every way he can.

When the hologram reappears, Cipher is lounging on the bed, his easy grace in contrast to the hard set of his mouth. He adjusts the field of view so Hunter can see all of him, can watch as he slips his clothes off and stretches languidly. He must think he has Hunter figured out now—flirting, then seduction, then Hunter will gratefully call off the Star Cabal before Cipher Nine puts a bolt in his brain.

"Cipher, I'm honored. How many people have seen you like this before you killed them?"

Cipher Nine just smiles, all cool confidence and charm, lifting his hips so the holocam can get a better view of his growing erection. "Don't worry, Hunter. You're special." He lazily trails fingers over his chest, down to his cock, and he's slowly jerking himself off.

His hand strays down, watching his Cipher, down his thighs and down to palm his—

Her clit.

She freezes.

Hunter adjusts the holocam, then, so only his torso is showing, so all the agent can see is him, the subtle movement of his arm as she rubs at her clit through her underwear. Let him use his imagination.

He _laughs_ at her, hand moving steadily. "Keeping this professional, Hunter?" 

He says, casually, "Keyword: Onomatophobia."

Cipher Nine jerks like he's been shot, scrabbling up against the wall and he's afraid, so vulnerable and afraid—

She presses at her clit, hard enough that it hurts, hissing between his teeth. "That's better, Cipher. Keep going."

He shudders, and good, he'll end the call and she can take off Hunter's clothes and fuck herself thinking about his hard cock. But then he grasps his cock again, staring into Hunter's eyes, and keeps going. "Anything you say, Hunter," he rasps, the anger in his voice barely veiled.

 _Fuck_ —and she's rubbing herself, now, keeping her movements ambiguous enough that it won't break the illusion, won't let him know Hunter is anything but what he appears to be, anything but his worst enemy idly playing with himself while Cipher jerks off. "Now if you had been this cooperative before, maybe we wouldn't have had to use the keyword."

His hips are bucking, hand moving faster as he meets Hunter's eyes through the hologram, through the hologram nested inside it. "You don't want me fighting? Do you know—" he swallows, panting— "do you know what I would do to you if you were here?"

She has to brace herself against the dresser, rubbing circles on her clit through thin fabric, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. "Whatever I let you."

And his hand moves even faster, his face frozen in a silent shout, until he comes all over his hand, his stomach, his hips jerking a final few times. His eyes are closed while he pants, while he recovers, and Hunter lets his fingers just barely slide into her cunt while she watches him, sweating and covered in come.

"I'd let you lick me clean," he murmurs, eyes still closed, "and then I'd strangle you." When Hunter gives a startled moan, Cipher Nine opens his eyes, their blank glow searing through the hologram.  "See you later," says Cipher Nine, and turns off the holocamera.

Hunter stares at the idle projector.

He jams his hand down his underwear, roughly fingering herself, the echo of her moans in her skull mixing with his. And she falls back against the wall, gasping, pumping her hips as she imagines him fucking her, fucking Hunter, and she thinks of him as she comes.

Her hands are shaking.

And Hunter's pants are smooth and dry, no sign of an erection or wetness or anything but a perfect hologram.

She jabs at her wrist, blue shimmer dissipating around her as she stumbles to the fresher, stares at herself in the mirror, stares at her real face. But it's not enough, not wearing his clothes, not seeing Cipher Nine watching him in her mind. So she takes them off, all of them, and the projector on her wrist, until there's nothing left for her to look at but someone who doesn't exist.

 

* * *

 

The next time he calls, Hunter's afraid for him.

 

* * *

 

The next time they meet, Hunter's afraid.

 

* * *

 

It ends like he knew it would, like he dreamed: his agent standing above him, his stubborn, brilliant agent who destroyed a thousand years of planning and the only thing that had ever mattered to him.

There's just one thing left for her to give.

She watches him as she turns off the disguise, meets his eyes for the first time. And he holds her gaze, steadily, showing barely a hint of surprise. What did she expect? He knows Hunter, the only one who's ever really known him, the only one who's ever really known _her_. And when he kneels down to kiss her—it's the way he would have kissed Hunter, because he's kissing both of them, their first kiss and their last.

It's over, now. The Star Cabal, their chase, all of it.

She smiles at him, when he finally lets go, and keeps watching so he's the last thing she sees as she keys in the combination that activates the—

He lunges forward, catching her wrists.

"Hunter," he rasps as he pins her arms behind her back, "no."

Her throat is closing in, not from his blaster bolts or the electric shock she can't trigger but because he's _won_ , because Hunter was meant to die and so was she—

He reaches up to her neck, and for a delirious moment she thinks he just wants another last kiss—but no, he's pressing a cylinder to her neck and she's watching the fear and anger and love in his eyes when it all goes black.

 

 

**V. ████████ | Cipher Nine**

She wakes up slowly, and that alone would have set her on alert. The fact that she's wearing something uncharacteristically loose-fitting, that her body aches all over, that she can't remember _why_ , starts her heart pounding. Looking down, she sees that she's wearing a thin gown and her arms are strapped down.

 _Her_ arms, not his, where's her projector where's her clothes _where is she—_

Cipher Nine steps into the room, and she looks around frantically for a weapon, anything she can reach, he's taken his projector and her weapons and her—

He holds up his empty hands, carefully stepping towards her. "You're in my medbay. You're safe." And then he laughs, a bitter, broken sound. "As safe as we can be."

"My projector," she says, voice hoarse and unfamiliar.

She watches him go to a cabinet, not realizing she's straining against the restraints until the sharp bite of pain in her wrists pierces the haze in her mind. "Here," he says, sitting on the edge of the cot next to her. He deactivates the restraints, moving slowly, exaggerating every movement, before handing her the bracer. "Temple was kind enough to disable the lethal functions."

She straps it on, not quite fumbling, and it takes effort not to switch the hologram on immediately and let him see how shaken she is. "Planning on turning me in?" she says evenly.

He gives her a bleak smile. "To who?" He shifts towards her, and he doesn't try to hide his staring. Probably trying to see him in her, trying to see the man he chased across the galaxy instead of a scared little girl who disappeared decades ago.

His hands are shaking, too.

"Your clothes are in the cabinet," he says, and she can't tell if the thought of him undressing her is giving her a frisson of excitement or nausea. "I'll—" He hesitates. "I'll leave while you change."

She leans back, just a trace of his—her—cockiness returning. "Finally asking me to undress for you, Cipher?"

And she catches a flash of _gratefulness_ in his expression at the familiar patterns of Hunter's voice. "Oh, yes. I always wanted to make love by the light of a kolto tank." He swallows, hard, and touches her arm, the touch of a concerned friend, of a lover. "There's no reason to keep things professional now," he says, quietly.

She hates him, then, for _changing_ , and for staying the same.

"All right," she says, hoarsely.

When he takes her hand to lead her to his bedroom, to _protect_ her, she shudders violently.

Cipher Nine simply squeezes her hand and pulls her along.

They sit on the edge of his bed, side by side, silent because what could they say to each other that isn't taunting, isn't about their war? He's looking at her with an unreadable expression, fingers drumming a restless rhythm on his thighs.

They were never supposed to get this far.

"You finally caught me," she says, voice low. "What now?"

He shrugs. "Do you play Centran sabaac?"

"I worked with Kothe. What do you think?" She throws a glance at him. "Do you?"

"No."

They're suddenly _laughing_ , both of them, and she feels a swell of pure, terrifying affection well up inside her. "So what is it you want to do to me?" It's so easy to slip back into her voice—his voice—and her fingers twitch towards the projector. "Or was it just Hunter?"

He turns to face her, and she starts at the searing glow of his eyes. "I want to kill you," he says, leaning in. "I want to kiss you. I want all of you."

To her surprise, she gives him a crooked grin. "I'll give you credit for the first one." She grabs his shoulders and pulls him down on top of her, into a kiss that isn't their first and isn't their last.

And when halfway through the kiss, she turns the projector on, Cipher Nine just kisses him harder, holding his petite body tighter to his. His cock is already heavy against Hunter's thigh, and Hunter jerks his hips up to hear him moan.

"Miss me?" he breathes into her agent's ear, shifting to grind his cunt against him, breath hitching.

Cipher mutters, "You never go away." He reaches through Hunter's clothes to find the hem of his gown, pulling it up over his thighs.

Hunter, canting his hips towards his touch, keys in a setting to her projector—and he's suddenly nude, cock jutting up on his stomach.

Cipher Nine laughs, softly, but he's wearing that same look of intensity he had the last time he came for Hunter. "Convenient." He settles his hand on Hunter's cock, hovering over his body, wrapping his fingers around the hologram. And his other hand, his other hand is pushing her underwear aside and rubbing at his clit.

With a groan, she shoves Cipher Nine off her and hastily slips off the gown, her underwear. "Hurry up, then." And they do make a good team, efficiently stripping off Cipher's clothing until they're both nude, until they're indistinguishable from lovers.

"Want to touch me, Cipher?" He pushes him back on the bed and straddles him, rubbing against him before thumbing the projector off. "Want to fuck me?" she asks.

"I thought I had done," he says dryly, hissing when she squeezes his cock a touch too roughly in response.

He rocks against him, cunt sliding against his cock. "Make me love it." And he grasps her hips, guiding her onto him, until he's inside him and they're both shaking with want. She rides him, until Hunter turns on the projector and he rides him, Cipher's eyes watching theirs, always watching as they switch back and forth, back and forth.

He's close to coming, they both are, when Hunter leans in, presses a kiss to his earlobe. And Hunter whispers his name in his ear—not a false identity or a code name or even a core name. Eyes snapping wide with a blaze of red, he shudders.

And he whispers back, not a full name or a first name or a disposable identity, just " _Hunter_." Hunter kisses him, his agent, her agent, Hunter's agent.

Cipher Nine's fingers find the projector and switch it off, or maybe on.

Hunter muffles a shout in his shoulder as they come, biting down until they can taste their Cipher's blood, and they can feel him pulsing inside them. He's panting against them, and Hunter is kissing the wound he left again and again, until Hunter cracks the holoprojector against his skull and he slumps against the pillow.

They check his pulse—slowing down to a steady beat, good—and gently guide his cock out of them, cleaning up with the corner of the bedsheets.

"Goodbye, love," Hunter whispers, tenderly wiping the blood off his temple.

The greatest gift they can give him - the gift of not belonging to anyone. Not even to Hunter.

It's only fair—after all, their Cipher gave the same gift to them.

It's not his fault there's nothing left.

 

* * *

 

The agent's crew had been sent away, or just heavily encouraged to stay clear of them. No one but the security cameras, then, was there to notice Cipher Nine collecting a set of clothes from the medbay and exiting the ship. No one would have cared, except that the security cameras showed two people entering his bedroom and only Cipher Nine leaving.

When Cipher Nine regains consciousness, he watches the recordings, and again, and again.

 

 

**VI. ████████**

The man who was Cipher Nine is not entirely comfortable in crowds, these days. Too many faces to scan, too many threats coming from too many directions, too much of everything. But his missions are unofficial, these days, and never undercover, so Kaliyo or Vector or Temple can work at his side, a second pair of eyes. And, in Kaliyo's case, tell him to hurry the hell up and stop staring at that kiosk, because if he's thinking of buying one of those tacky souvenirs she's knocking him out and taking his credits.

But as they walk towards the dead drop, his sense of unease keeps growing. Something is _wrong_ , shadows teasing at the corner of his mind, his breath quickening. He glances at Kaliyo, eyebrows raised; she simply makes a rude gesture. Their routine, whenever he isn't sure whether something's broken in his mind again—this time, she feels it too. Instinct, then, meaning he had best figure it out before the shooting started.

He mentally goes over the crowd, their movements, and it's the Chiss standing at the kiosk that he keeps coming back to. Chiss were uncommon on this planet, but certainly not unheard of—so what was it? Their features, he realizes suddenly. The Chiss looked not unlike him, and he braces himself against a low wall while he works it out.

A relative? No, none who would be outside of the Ascendancy. A coincidence, another agent? A disguise?

And then, he knows.

The Chiss didn't just look like _him_ , they looked like—

He runs, pushing through vendors and crowds and he took too long, he's gone soft, he's lost someone that doesn't even exist—

The Chiss is still there, casually waiting by the kiosk, waiting for him to see.

Their eyes meet, across the square.

The Chiss puts a finger to their lips.

He blinks, and the crowd is full of aliens, dozens of faces he's never seen before. 

When he makes it to the stall, Kaliyo following with blaster at the ready, he finds—nothing. Nothing at all. And he has to stop and breathe, eyes closed, willing his heart to stop pounding, willing himself to forget.

When his eyes open, he sees the symbol traced in the dust.

"The hell is that?" Kaliyo asks.

He touches the clean lines of the symbol, tracing over the paths left by someone else's finger. "I have no idea."  And he feels himself grinning, wild and hopeful, because now he's seen them, a new face, a new person.

Now—now he can go on the hunt.


End file.
